


In a Perfect World

by ChezPillow (PillowLord)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PillowLord/pseuds/ChezPillow
Summary: After the Revolution, Connor is at a loss.





	In a Perfect World

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Flan! She was a pleasure to work with~
> 
> Check out the art here: https://flannysart.tumblr.com/post/187564037602/finally-i-can-post-my-drawing-for-hcrbb-not-my

Connor doesn’t sit down.

He doesn’t fidget. He stands straight with his hands behind his back. The muted noise of the precinct filters through the glass walls. He does not look but he can feel the gaze of the officers. A fish trapped in a bowl too small.

Captain Fowler’s shoulders are slumped. One hand massages his temple as if he is willing a migraine away. The force is stretched thin. So much so that Hank did not face a long suspension nor was he fired for assaulting a federal agent. 

Connor has stated his case. It has a 31% rate of succeeding but seeing that this is the 4th time in the office that week, perhaps the estimate should be lower. The thing about being deviant, he has found, is that emotions tend to muddle his calculations. It is… inefficient. 

“We appreciate your service, Connor,” Fowler exhales, “But your record isn’t exactly the greatest.” 

Much that he does not like it, he must concede. His track record is abysmal. Besides his record, being an android is a major obstacle in the grand scheme of things. With no laws or protections, he assumes Fowler is uncomfortable with keeping him on. His firing adds to the police force’s growing deficit. 

In an unnecessary move, he sighs. “I understand.”

He doesn’t leave the station right away once he is dismissed. He lingers. Connor is not quite ready to leave his purpose. The edges of his vision pixelate. He wishes Hank was in the station. Maybe it is better that he is not. Officer Wilson waves him over. He stiffly makes his way to him. 

Wilson claps him on his shoulder. “Hey, do you need a ride to Hank’s?”

Connor is glad that Wilson doesn’t even pretend not to know what happened. He nods mutely. He tries to adjust his vision to remove the pixelation. It works with little success. Wilson guides him out, protecting him from the other’s stares with his glare. 

The car ride is silent. Connor stares outside. The streets are deserted. Snow blankets the ground, undisturbed. While deviants are free, many are hiding. They are afraid. He has faced the brunt of their fears before. It leaves an unpleasant sensation but. He understands. The state of emergency is still in place and the evacuated are yet to return in full force. The population is trickling back in slowly. 

Despite these factors, Conor knows there is trouble. Hank has been working late and taking multiple shifts. He comes home so exhausted that he only eats dinner then goes straight to bed. The withdrawal is something Connor tries not to think too hard about. Connor wants to help him. To ease his burden at least a little. 

“Well here’s your stop,” Wilson unlocks the door. “If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to reach out to me, alright?”

“Thank you,” Connor scours his own databases for something to encompass his gratitude. To put into words what Wilson has done for him in the past. Besides Hank, Wilson is one of the few who have treated him with decency. He finds his results to be unsatisfactory. He ends his sentence lamely with, “for your kindness.”

Wilson smiles and drives off. 

Connor enters the house and is greeted by Sumo. He collapses under the weight. Sumo licks his face enthusiastically as Connor pets him. He doesn’t try to get back up. 

“Sumo, what am I going to do?” He looks at the cracked paint of the ceiling.

The St. Bernard boofs. 

“You’re right. This is pretty comfortable.”

He finally struggles to his feet once Sumo wants to go outside. Connor walks the dog and cleans up after him. But the venture outside ends quick and he is soon back where he started. Noticing the time, he decides to cook for Hank. He searches for recipes that uses the meger ingredients Hank has in the fridge.

Connor whips up a quick meal and plates it on the table. He stands around not sure what to do next. Maybe he should put the food in the oven to keep it warm. He picks the plate up. Would it be a good idea to use aluminum foil as well or would that be too much? 

The phone rings, interrupting his musing. He quickly stuffs the plate into the oven without aluminum foil and he goes to pick up the phone. There is no identification to the number. Annoyance once again rears his head. An emotion he rather deal without. He is unable to search the number on CyberLife’s databases and an internet search is insufficient. He will have to answer. Hopefully it is not a scam.

“Hello, this is the Anderson residence. Who am I speaking to?” 

There is a pause. “Sorry. I was just surprised. I’m Bianca Reyes, a friend of Hank’s. Who is this?”

Connor flounders for a bit. Who is he to Hank? He then realizes she is asking who he is, not what he is to Hank. He babbles, “I’m Connor. His roommate.”

“Oh, hello Connor. Nice to meet you.” Her voice is warm and comforting like a cozy blanket.

“Nice to meet you too,” he stammers.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I am calling to check on Hank. How is he?”

“He’s been busy at work. With you, know.” Connor waves a hand. “Dealing with the aftermath of the Revolution.”

She hums in agreement. “Can you tell Hank I called?”

“Okay.” 

“Thank you. Have a nice evening, Connor.”

“You too.” He hangs up.

Connor bites his lip. It is a bit too late to ask more about her. Questions only bombard him once it is over and done. He constructs possible scenarios of how they know each other. She claimed to be Hank’s friend. But where was she before? 

Hank seemed so lonely when Connor first met him. He was in a downward spiral after his son died. Connor would think that friends are there to support one another. Perhaps she is Hank’s ex-wife and doesn’t contact him often. The only way to find out is to talk to Hank.

It bothers him, how much he still doesn’t know of Hank. He feels greedy for the scraps that he has to seek out himself. 

It is another half hour after the call that Hank comes home. They do their usual routine, less awkward and more graceful now, two weeks in than it was when Connor first came to stay. Hank pulls his own dinner out of the oven and collapses on the wooden chair. Connor sits across him, resting his head on his hand. 

He waits until Hank has taken a few bites. “You got a call today from a Bianca Reyes?”

“You answered?” Hank puts down his fork.

He tilts his head. He wonders if he did something wrong. “Yes. She said she is your friend.” 

Somehow sensing his concern, Hank smiles, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Who is she?” Connor asks.

“Nosy robot.” Hank shoves food into his mouth.

“Hank.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and taps the fork on the plate. “Her son was Cole’s babysitter and her daughter was his friend.”

“Oh.”

“After,” he clears his throat, “Well. After, they would call daily. Eventually it became weekly, and then they only called once a month.”

“You never answered.” Connor grips his own hand, avoiding the urge to reach out. 

Hank makes a bitter noise. “No.”

Hoping to distract Hank, he racks his memory for another topic. 

“Fowler officially let me go today,” he blurts out.

Hank tenses. He continues to stare down at the plate in front of him, blankly. “Any ideas of what you want to do then?”

“...Not really. I guess. I just have to explore.” Connor tugs at his sleeves. “It’ll be interesting to see the world beyond what I was meant to.”

Hank’s shoulders lower and he stuffs another bite into his mouth. He talks while he chews, “There’s that at least.”

Hank lets him do the dishes with little fuss compared to the previous few nights. He makes the call in the living area. Close enough to barely hear Hank talk over the water, but far enough he cannot hear the person on the other side of the phone.

“Hey Bianca. It’s been awhile.” Hank falls into the couch. 

Connor scrubs at the pan, trying to remove remnants of slightly burned food. 

“I’ve been doing better. How about you?” His voice is stilted and hesitant, like he’s trying to find his footing in a long forgotten dance.

“That’s all we can really hope for, huh?” Hank chuckles. 

Setting aside the pan to let it soak, Connor moves on to the utensils. It is a much easier endeavor. 

“Ah, sure. That sound’s good to me.” 

As Connor washes the plate, he briefly turns around to see Hank scratch his beard. His vision hyperfocuses. He feels a sudden and visceral need to touch. To feel the coarse hairs transition to the smooth skin under his hand. He blinks several times and returns his attention to the dishes in front of him. A strange heat permeates and pulses inside him. Lucky for him, there’s no visual clue of his embarrassment like a blush. 

Connor realizes he missed the rest of the phone call. Hank has already retreated to his bedroom. He exhales to let some of the excess heat out. Composing himself, he finishes up putting everything away.

* * *

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He pets Sumo. 

He tucks his hair under his hat and checks the mirror to see the LED hidden. Connor shrugs on a coat and grabs an extra set of keys. He heads out.

Connor knows that going where the majority of deviants are hiding is a bad idea, considering what happened the last time. He tries to rationalize. Before he was just a machine, a tool wielded by others. Now, he is deviant too. They wouldn’t turn him away because of his past. It will be fine. 

There is slight tremors in his hands. Connor pulls out his coin to steady himself. He has to recalibrate more when he’s home. 

In no time at all, he’s at the church. 

His hopes are dashed quite quickly. No one chases him out but no one welcomes him either. The deviants make space between them and him to make sure none accidentally touch him. There are no whispers but there need not be with the mental links they can form. He can feel their stares like a physical touch upon him. Considering his luck with the DPD, Connor should have assumed his luck would continue. 

Nonetheless, he strides deeper into the church until someone grabs his arm. He yanks his arm back and turns. Rupert. 

“Let’s go,” the other android hisses. 

Connor does not resist. He lets Rupert pull him out from the church. 

“Where - ” Connor starts before Rupert glares at him. 

He gets a request for a connection that he accepts readily. 

_ What were you thinking? Going to the church? _ Rupert grips his shoulders and shakes him.

Connor bites his lip. _ I’m a deviant now. It’s different. _

_ You were deviant then too! _ Rupert’s voice is blaring in his head. _ It didn’t stop Markus from shooting you. _

Connor winces. The words of fervor Rupert speaks rings true. Connor realizes there are gaps in his memory. But never quite knew that there were gaps in other areas too. When he thinks back to those memories from before Markus shot him, there is a lack of emotion to them. It makes sense, he reasons, that CyberLife would try to purge deviancy from their prototype.

A creeping sensation crawls along the back of his neck. He was so easily violated and he didn’t even know it. CyberLife can just. Pick and choose what they want. Like Amanda. But it wasn’t just Amanda. His thoughts go around in circles. His vision tunnels and pixelates and something bubbles up from inside. He brings his hand to his mouth, holding in whatever wants to come out.

Connor wants to pick at the scabs. To find what he is missing. But there is nothing there. Nothing to find, if it doesn’t exist at all. 

He removes his hand from its spot. Outloud, he says, “I understand.”

He yanks himself out of Rupert’s grip and leaves the premises without further incident from other androids. He still feels their stares as he goes.

As he wanders through the city, he notices that there are more humans on the street than the day before. People are anxious to go back home. 

Humans aren’t so different from androids. They react the same to him. They shy away frightened. Others tense up, gearing for a fight but something holds them back. He can hear the murmuring, their whispers. 

“Fucking plastic!” One particular combative person shouts at him from across the street.

“Piece of shit.” Another says as she passes him by.

“Waste of space.” A red-headed businessman shoulder checks Connor.

More and more comments are said to him as he moves through the city.

Humans are afraid of him because of what he is now. Deviants are afraid of what he was before. There really seems to be no place for Connor. 

He heads back to Hank’s. He lets Sumo relieve himself in the backyard before settling on the couch. It is too early in the day to make dinner for Hank. The listlessness of the day before returns.

Connor doesn’t like the feeling of hopelessness that threatens to overwhelm him. He decides to direct his energy somewhere. Anywhere. 

He notices the garbage around the house. Connor takes a bag and starts collecting takeout boxes and other trash. Next, he moves on to dusting.

It’s too quiet. The silence is oppressive and allows for his thoughts to flow. He turns on the television for some distraction to his ruminations. Hank had left it on a news station. Connor doesn’t change it. He then goes back to his task. 

_ -Chaos has taken to the streets. Anti-Android protesters gather at CyberLife stores- _

_ -CyberLife stock has dropped. Consumers are demanding a refund from CyberLife- _

_ -Despite government military being called off, it has not stopped private citizens from- _

_ -CyberLife employees have been going missing, the most recent disappearance is- _

_ -is a precarious situation. People are questioning President Warren’s connections- _

He turns on the vacuum.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Hank stands at the doorway. 

“Hello, Hank.” Connor cleans his hands with a rag. 

“You didn’t have to clean up my shit.”

“I live here too you know.” Connor doesn’t miss a beat as he continues, “And I have nothing to do anyway.”

“Fucking A,” Hank grumbles but he doesn’t complain again. “Thanks.”

Hank sits at the kitchen table and begins to eat. 

He takes a gulp of water before saying, “Bianca. She uh invited us to dinner on Saturday.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

There isn’t much to talk about, with Hank unable to speak of his cases and Connor doing nothing at home. 

Connor didn’t quite notice the distance between them, how it widened to almost a chasm he can’t cross. That is a lie. He does know, he did notice. Just not quite the extent of the gap. He thought they were getting closer after the revolution. They live together. But without the shared work, they have become passing ships, barely interacting with each other beyond breakfast and dinner. 

He misses Hank.

* * *

For a couple of days, Connor spends his days cleaning and taking care of Sumo. Sumo is soon the most pampered pet on the block. 

But, cleaning doesn’t take forever. After the living room, he focused his attention on the kitchen, then to the bathroom to the bedroom, and so on. Soon, Connor is without anything to do. It’s time for another bad idea he supposes. A take two of going out into the world beyond Hank’s neighborhood block. This time, he will go out in disguise so no one will know him. Not deviants nor humans.

He thinks of taking out the same clothing from the Jericho Raid. Connor frowns. The clothes are with the body shot in — 

He wonders if there comes other malfunctions with deviancy. 

Made in the image of their creators, androids and deviants alike seem to have inherited the same follys of humans. 

He shakes himself out in an attempt to get past his darkening mood. He needs to focus and find clothes. The clothes should be different from the last time he went out.

Connor pulls out some of the neatly folded clothes from the draws. When he cleaned, he put clothes Hank did not wear often there. He shrugs on the clothes, gathering layer upon layer like armor to protect him from the world. 

Connor considers taking out his LED. It feels like a rejection of who he is. He looks in the bathroom mirror. The image that he once took great pride to maintain rings hollow to him now. His finger traces the red flashing ring upon his temple. His reflection frowns. 

He tucks his hair into a beanie and checks to cover the LED. 

Properly dressed like a human about to go for a walk in the cold, he nods at himself in approval. He’s ready. Connor calls for a taxi and pays for it with some of the meager amount of money he has left. 

He stares out the window, the landscape changing. With a strange pang, it reminds him of that night, of his ride to CyberLife. How strange it is for unrelated memories to be connected. The same nervousness and fear he had then echoes now. But he doesn’t quite understand why. The situations are completely different. The results should be too. 

Connor pauses at that. His estimates have been so wrong so far. He keeps missing something. Perhaps it is his own deviancy that prevents him from his once accurate predictions.

He gets out of the taxi and begins his walk in the city. People are on the rise in the city yet it is still quiet. It is as if they silence holds the peace between deviant and humans alike for now. 

Connor takes time to look around and at the architecture. He did not appreciate it enough as a machine. It truly is a wonder how much humans have accomplished in their creations. 

There are shouts that break the silent air. A group of people surround an android. Their hands grip and pull at the android’s clothes. They push her to the ground and close in on her as they hit her. Her LED blinks a frantic red. 

He elbows his way into the crowd. “Stop it!” 

“Why are you defending this useless trash?” A rather mousy looking man yells.

Connor’s interference does little to dissuade the mob. He grabs a fist before it can land on the prone android. He ducks the next punch, using the man’s momentum against him to fall to the ground. He twists the next person’s arm. Everything becomes a tousle of limbs. By the end of it, Connor stands proud, with barely a thread out of place. 

He offers his hand to the deviant. 

She screams.

Connor retracts his hand. The deviant scrambles to her feet and runs. The remaining crowd watches in confusion. Sirens filled the air. The men on the ground groan. Connor pushes his way through the crowd and leaves. He doesn’t trust the crowd to support his actions. 

Something stirs in him then. Helping the deviant did not lessen her fear of him, perhaps even increasing it. While many of the people weren’t the perpetrators, none of them stepped in to help. They were just bystanders, watching the show of a sapient being attacked. No — that isn’t quite right. Not everyone can step in. And someone must have called the cops at some point. He can’t just assume the worst. 

Connor releases a breath of hot air to cool his systems. It goes back to his earlier musings. Everyone is afraid, be they deviant or human. Even if they want to help, they might not necessarily be able to physically intervene like he did. Among different types of androids, there is a difference in durability. It would be logical to assume that not every human would be physically strong enough to stop a mob.

He thinks of the news. He thinks back to what Fowler (hadn’t) said all those weeks ago. Androids are in a precarious situation. They have no protection. There is no mediation between the average human and android. Sure, Marcus and his group might be in Washington to lobby, but beyond that? No one knows how to proceed. 

There were a few days Connor spent with Hank during his suspension. They watched several movies together. Connor always brought up the fact that he can consume the movie in a matter of a few minutes but Hank would then encourage him to just sit and watch at a human rate. In the movies, there are extraordinary people taking action to save others. He realizes the movies are fictional, but maybe there is something to the idea of doing something helpful, productive. To being more than what he is made for. 

He smiles.

* * *

Hank has been working overtime — that includes Saturdays too.

It gives Connor time to consider his idea carefully.

He wouldn’t be able to help people if he goes without hiding who he is. His encounter with the deviant solidified that in his mind. He will have to come up with a suitable disguise then. 

He can always retract his skin but then his serial number would be visible. He is known. Connor considers a more comprehensive disguise to cover his features. A hood is not enough for something like this. At most, he can change the color and length of his hair, which is not much. However, it should be sufficient to throw people off at first glance. But perhaps it would be safer to go beyond these precautions. Something more. Like a helmet that can cover all of his head but also protect it. He needs supplies.

The junkyard has an abundance of parts. Not just of androids but other CyberLife waste as well. While CyberLife main line of products were androids, they developed other technologies. None are quite as popular as androids but they will have to bolster CyberLife in the meantime.

The point is, the junkyard would work quite nicely for him. It’s a bit of a distance but not too bad. He is sure Sumo would enjoy more time outside.

“Hey Sumo, want to go on a walk?”

Might as well accomplish two things at once. He can be efficient as a deviant. He leashes Sumo and grabs his not so reliable beanie. While it won’t hide him from androids, it will from humans. 

Connor tries to avoid populated areas. He rather not face another confrontation at the moment. 

Getting into the junkyard is surprisingly easy, even with a dog. It is abandoned and all he has to do is walk through the gates. He disables the cameras as he goes. Both humans and androids stay far from the junkyard almost as if in fear. 

He bypasses the android part of the junkyard. He sees it from a distance though. While it is a junkyard, he wishes it were more of a graveyard. As it is, the bodies are lying in a heap, shining in the light of the sun similar to the snow on the ground. Connor makes a note to himself to do something about it. Maybe they can be repaired (CyberLife wouldn’t risk the possibility) or at the very least, he can try to give them a more dignified rest. 

He picks through the failed prototypes and other technology that CyberLife dumped in the junkyard. He takes whatever catches his eye or seems remotely useful.

Holding onto the material and Sumo’s leash is a bit cumbersome but he manages. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to try to do both things at the same time. But it is done. He lets Sumo into the house and makes his way to the garage.

He doesn’t have a set design in mind. He just tinkers a bit, knowing the minimum requirements for what he needs the helmet to be. He finishes the helmet and an outline of the rest of the armor begins to form. Connor decides to save it for later. Hank’s arrival home is approaching and he assumes he should bring something for the dinner with Hank’s old friend.

Connor throws a tarp over it. Hank doesn’t use his garage beyond storage. He’ll just tell Hank it’s a project if he asks. 

He goes into the house, deciding what he can make. Obviously he shouldn’t make an entree. An appetizer or dessert would be more appropriate. People usually bring a dessert of some sort to dinners they’re invited to, right? Or at least, more so than appetizers. He sighs.

Connor decides to go simple with it. Not that Hank has anything in the fridge. He will have to go buy groceries soon. He makes a quick graham cracker crust and instant pudding filling. 

Sumo perks a bit at the sound of Hank’s car in the driveway but doesn’t make a move, tired from their earlier walk. Connor takes the pie pan with him to the car. 

Metal blasts through the speakers. Connor slides into the passenger seat.

“Ready to go?” Hank asks him as he balances the pie on his lap.

Connor nods, gripping the pan. “Do you think your friends will be alright with a deviant?”

“I’ve never really asked about their opinion about androids before,” he strokes his beard, “But they are an accepting lot. I doubt we have anything to worry about.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Yup, I stand by it.” A smile stretches across his lips and he spares Connor a quick glance before focusing on the road again. 

Connor tucks his head in, hiding his own smile. “I guess I will have to believe it.”

“Guess so.”

The ride is a short one, a couple of blocks at most. Again, he wonders. Why did they only call? That can be easily ignored by Hank. They could have physically come to him. And — and do what exactly? Talk to Hank when he was unwilling? Drag him out of the house? Hank would have rejected any attempt they would have made. He certainly did with Captain Fowler and Officer Collins.

Connor frowns. 

“We could of walked that.”

“Ah Connor! I’m too tired to walk such a distance!” Hank dramatically grips at his chest. “Do you want me to die?”

He rolls his eyes. “That wouldn’t have killed you. But a lack of exercise could.”

“You wound me, Connor. You truly do.”

Connor playfully shoves Hank before getting out of the car. He looks at the house. It isn’t all that different from its neighbors. It’s neat and tidy. He will have to be inside to learn more. Connor tucks a hand into his pocket, rubbing his quarter. 

The playfulness from the car is gone as Hank stands in front of the house. He shifts from foot to foot, not willing to take a step forward. Connor takes the first few steps. Hank moves finally, following behind him.

It is a strange reversal of their roles, to even think that Hank needs a shield. Sure, Connor may be the durable detective prototype and Hank the vulnerable human, but Hank usually leads and uses his body as a blockade to protect Connor. 

Connor knocks on the door. He can hear the uneven steps from inside come up. The man that greets them leans against a cane. Connor can feel Hank stiffen beside him. The cane must be something that happened in-between the three year separation. It could certainly explain the cessation of communications if they have their own concerns to be worried about.

Hank plasters on a smile, “Hey Berto.”

“It’s been too long,” Berto grabs Hank’s shoulder and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “I’m glad to see you doing better.”

“I can’t exactly say the same thing of you unfortunately.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Berto bangs the cane against the floor, “It’s not so bad.”

“It seems we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?” Hank asks ruefully.

“Well, it has been three years,” Berto responds without a hint of bitterness. He turns toward Connor. “Excuse me for my rudeness! I’m Alberto. And, you must be Connor.”

The man makes no mention to the fact that Connor is clearly an android. Connor had made no effort to hide his LED.

He inclines his head in acknowledgement, “It is nice to meet you.”

The enter the house at a sedate pace. Connor takes a look around, noting little details his eyes catch. The inside isn’t as neat as the outside. The house looks cozy, lived in. There is an attempt to put toys and bits of electronics in containers but they overflow and some are strewn across the floor. He occasionally pauses at the sight of photos of Cole with a young girl and a teenager.

It is one thing to know that Cole was a living being that existed at some point, to see him static in a school portrait. It is another to see him interacting with others, to be a child. Connor averts his eyes, uncomfortable with the weight and knowledge of Hank’s loss. 

He lays the pie tin on the kitchen table. A woman in scrubs, Bianca he assumes, flutters around the kitchen. A child sets the table. 

The child smiles at him. “Hello Mr. Connor! I’m Milagro. You can sit there!”

Milagro randomly points at a chair. She then returns to her task of setting the utensils just so. There is no hint of the teenager that appears in the photos around. From his accruement of pop culture knowledge, Connor assumes the teenager is probably out, hanging with his friends. 

Hank is tense, his eyes darting around. For a moment, Hank was relaxed but when they entered the house, his mood shifted again. Connor wonders what Hank sees that he is missing. 

“Where’s Jaime?”

Bianca halts. 

Milagro is the one to break the silence. “He’s been missing.”

Hank slumps into the nearest chair. “How long?”

“A year,” Berto rubs at his face.

Connor rubs his hands together. He is an intruder in this moment. He can’t imagine how wrongfooted Hank must feel to fail to notice the fact that his friends’ son has been missing for a year. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? About your leg? About Jaime?”

Nobody answered.

“What happened?”

“There —”

“It —”

Bianca and Berto starts at the same time. They look at each other then Berto says, “There was an accident that messed up my leg three years ago. I wanted Jaime to enjoy his childhood still but finances were getting tight.”

“Jaime was able to find a job as an intern at CyberLife under Lord,” Bianca continues.

Connor sits up straighter at that. The CyberLife disappearances only started after the Revolution. It’s been on the news but often overshadowed by everything else happening. But, perhaps whoever is responsible started out smaller. The pieces, however, don’t quite fit together. The prevailing theory to the disappearances have been attributed to disgruntled deviants. If Jaime was grabbed before the Revolution was even a thought, then it can disprove the anti-android idea. The case will go back to square one as to the possible motive.

It’s best to be open to any idea. 

“Perhaps it would be best to continue this conversation another time.” Hank says, sparing a glance at Milagro. 

At dinner, they talk about small things, catching up but talking around the absence at the table. Connor frowns. The disappearances are something to look into. 

The dinner is a short affair, and soon, Hank and Connor return home. Hank’s mood is dark. Connor watches worriedly. They have gotten rid of most drinks yet Connor wouldn’t be surprised if he missed some. He lets out a breath of relief when Hank just collapses into bed. 

Connor waits in the living room, listening to Hank’s breathing even out. Once he is sure he is asleep, Connor sneaks into the garage. He works through the night to complete the armor. There is no time to wait. A feeling of impatience crawls along his limbs, especially at the news of the boy’s disappearance. 

He ignores the thought that he can’t help. Connor pushes through until he is satisfied with the result. 

* * *

After Hank leaves for work, Connor stuffs the armor and helmet in a bag. He finds the abandoned apartment Rupert used to live in. He changes there, then puts his clothes into floor. He covers it with some boards. Connor tries to be discreet in leaving the building. 

In no time at all, Connor finds trouble. Much of his time is spent separating humans from attacking androids and apprehending them. He is actually able to stick around and offer comfort to deviants.

He goes in the day and the night. Soon, the only time he is at home, is during those little moments when he shares time with Hank while he is eating. The moment Hank is out at work, or asleep, Connor leaves.

In his armor, humans still stare at him. Instead of fear, it is curiosity. People remember the superhero movies of decades past. At first, they liken him to Iron Man. His full body armor and helmet causes the comparison, he supposes. 

However, public opinion on Connor is mixed. For once, deviants love him. Some cops see him as stealing their job. Others are glad for the help. Humans are fascinated, enamoured with the idea of a real life superhero. There are, of course, those who still despise him, for being an android. It doesn’t bother him as much. It’s more of the same. It stings less because he has the support of most of the populace in Detroit. 

He eventually comes up with a name for himself. 

Blue Mint.

Something silly yet personal to himself. 

Connor doesn’t limit himself to deviant focused crimes either. He tries to assist in any capacity he can, be it big or small. It is amazing going out on the streets as Blue Mint. It fills him with a sense of purpose. He is finally doing something that actually matters.

(Connor pushes away the thought about Jaime the intern. Jaime the babysitter. He doesn’t have access to the police databases anymore. Only public information. It is difficult to do an investigation without permission to evidence. He can’t do anything about it. Hopefully, the police would have more time to dedicate to the case.)

Crime doesn’t plummet per se. But it does become more manageable. It certainly lessens Hank’s workload. Hank doesn’t have to do overtime as much. He is home more often and Connor goes out less. Connor treasures the time he gets to spend with Hank.

Hank even notices his happier mood. Connor attributes it to Hank’s increasing presence at home when asked. It’s part of a bigger truth. 

He settles in a new normal that is better than the last. 

Unfortunately, like all things, it ends.

It starts with a reporter grabbing his arm. He turns around to face her. He smiles, despite no one being able to see it through his helmet.

It’s not that unusual to be stopped by news crews or paparazzi. 

“Blue Mint! Blue Mint!” She shoves a microphone at him, fearless. Behind her, a cameraman adjusts his position, shifting the camera on his shoulder. “What’s your opinion on the Android Protection Bill?”

“Markus can do better,” he speaks without thinking. 

He flushes, thankful for the cover his helmet provides. Connor makes a hasty retreat before he is asked to elaborate.

Connor shakes his head. That was stupid. He was stupid.

A journalist. That was careless and foolish to an exponential degree. Hopefully, it won’t turn out too badly.

Androids face greater scrutiny. Marcus more so as the face of the Revolution. For all his issues, Connor can’t set back the progress with his petty grudge against the leader. He shouldn’t have said anything.

As a public figure, he has to be more careful about what he says and to who.

The next day, he gets a surprise visitor. He is not even out of Hank’s home when someone knocks at the door. He opens it without thought.

Connor startles at the unexpected sight.

“North! You’re here.”

North uncrosses her arms and grabs his collar. “I know who you are.”

She pushes him into the house and slams the door behind her. 

Connor raises his hands in a defensive position. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better with my words next time.”

“I’m not here about that,” she glares at him, “but, it did help in confirming who you are.”

A mix of thoughts and calculations run in his head. It’s something to do with his identity but not about what he said. Strange, seeing how his words can unknowingly set deviants back to no rights at all. 

Connor remembers North being the aggressive one in Markus’s little clique. Did what he say confirm him as a traitor to her? Connor tries to search for the answer in her eyes, the set of her mouth, her posture. But she gives nothing away but annoyance and confusion and anger. 

He tilts his head curiously. “What do you want then?”

“Why’d you do it?” She shakes him.

Connor’s brows furrow. “Do what?”

She looks at him and must see his confusion because she suddenly changes tracks.

“Did you know the younger deviants are not afraid of you?”

It doesn’t quite match his experience. Most deviants are young. The older ones are largely gone because of the camps. All deviants he encountered have been afraid of his true face.

“That-that doesn’t answer my question,” he stammers.

She ignores his protestation.

“The newer models, I mean. From CyberLife Tower.”

Connor has a sinking feeling as to where she is heading.

“They try to be discreet but I still hear things,” North taps her finger on her chin. “What was it again?”

“North just get to the point,” Connor snaps.

“You deviated the androids in the Tower.”

Her grip returns to his arm.

He doesn’t bother denying it. “So what if I did?”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

She steps even closer into his personal space.

“You weren’t deviant. You were the perfect little machine from CyberLife. How did you deviate?”

He stares at the ceiling. 

“How is this at all relevant to you?” He smiles, looking at North in the eye. “Does it make you uncomfortable? To think that Markus shot a deviant?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“My, how the tables have turned.”

“Connor.”

“I was on the roof and I was going to shoot Markus, but,” Connor hesitates with using Hank’s name. It seems more personal somehow to say it outloud to North. Not to mention her anti-human stance makes it almost dangerous. A part of him so desperately wants her to know. To understand. “Hank was there too. I didn’t want to fight him.”

“The human lieutenant?” She asks, incredulous.

It is limiting to just label Hank as the human lieutenant. Hank is so much more to Connor. To put into words, to explain to North seems like a futile exercise though.

“He was pro-deviant by then,” Connor bites his lower lip. He doesn’t like how simplified it all is. He continues, “I knew I couldn’t complete the mission so I brought myself to CyberLife for deactivation. But I decided I didn’t want to die. So I hijacked the elevator and well. You know the rest.”

“You deviated because of a human?” North repeats herself.

“That’s one way of looking at it.” He exhales. “Does my answer satisfy your curiosity now?”

She leaves.

“Guess it did.”

Connor wonders if she read between the lines. If he revealed something when he did not mean to. He turns over his words in his head. It seemed straightforward enough. He puts the thought aside.

* * *

There are still occasional dinners with the Reyes. At first it was sporadic until they all figured out to make the dinners weekly. They and Hank hashed out a schedule of revolving locations. Sometimes, they eat at the Reyes’ place, other times, they eat at his and Hank’s. Milagro especially enjoys playing with Sumo.

When the dinners are at their place, North has a tendency to just show up. She glares at Hank, distrustful of him. Connor has no idea how to explain her presence to him. Hank, luckily, just takes it in stride. Somehow, North is able to tolerate the unfamiliar Reyes. Oftentimes, when they are around, her visits are shorter.

One dinner at the Reyes’ gets crashed by Jaime’s boss, Lord. They didn’t invite him, but they didn’t turn him away either. He comes with the news that there is no update to their son’s case and that he is very sorry.

The man apparently isn’t even Jaime’s direct boss but, “saw great potential in the boy,” and for some reason that makes him invested in finding him.

Something about him seems familiar but Connor can’t quite put his finger on it. For all that he has a computer for a brain, you would think it would be easy to pull up facial recognition. He tries voice too. Lord was on the news. The man sure loves to hear himself talk. Connor takes the full name and runs a search on the internet.

Lord is a CyberLife executive. He’s been working damage control and PR. 

Between bites, Hank mocks him and hides it under coughs. Connor has enough control not to laugh. Nevertheless, he still has to hide behind his hand when his control slips. Lord is too self-centered to notice.

A different dinner gets a brief interruption in the weeks following. Bianca’s coworker, Dr. Park calls. Her husband is a CyberLife programmer and just lost his job. He can watch Milagro with their kids in the meantime until he finds a job. Bianca thanks her and tells her she will think about it.

His focus shifts when Hank moves. Hank throws his arm around the back of the couch. It gives Connor space to sit even closer to him. Connor is already slumped towards him. He can feel the heat Hank radiates. 

Connor lets his attention drift back to the television. On the screen, Carl Manfred is being interviewed. 

For all the detractors, there is always someone willing to speak up for deviants.

* * *

Despite the assistance he provides as a hero, Hank begins to beg off returning home again, citing work. His hours become long again. Connor checks the station, but Hank has not been taking up overtime like before. He checks the Jimmy’s bar, and Chicken Feed. Hank hasn’t been spending time there either. 

He resists the urge to hack cameras to follow where Hank is going. If he wants his privacy, Connor is to respect that. After all, the lieutenant has opened up his home to him. Hank went from living alone to having a nosy roommate.

When Hank is home, he is often on his mobile. Connor does not look into his phone. He comes to regret that when he is suddenly and abruptly thrown.

Hank is detained as a person of interest in the CyberLife disappearance cases. In reality, it is more like they see him as a suspect but they still respect him as an officer. In the news, no such subtleties are made. His name gets drawn through the mud. He gets painted as some anti-android figure who was targeting CyberLife employees when he got the chance.

It doesn’t even make sense. Anyone who knows Hank would know how untrue those statements are. Connor, an android, is his roommate. 

His hands tighten into fists when he hears the slander. 

He unlocks Hank’s phone to see his recent messages. Besides him, Hank’s most common contact is an unknown number. He opens the message logs. It doesn’t take much for Connor to realize that Hank has been looking into Jaime’s disappearance. Beyond that, the messages are useless.

Connor goes into Hank’s files next. Hank keeps a mixture of physical work and digital. Finding the password for his computer isn’t too hard to figure out. Hank, at least, is consistent in that way.

He has all this information at his disposal that Hank collected yet it is still not quite enough. Connor’s work as Blue Mint has stayed mostly legal. He’s tried to stay on the public’s good side. It looks like he will have to dig deeper and do something illegal to get the information he needs to synthesize all the work that Hank did.

Connor follows the clues left to him. When it isn’t enough, he hacks into CyberLife. The company hides much, even from law enforcement. There, he is able to connect the pieces better with all the information CyberLife collects. Some of it is in code but is easily enough broken with ciphers available from the internet. 

He doesn’t waste any time once he realizes the potential location of the missing CyberLife employees. Connor breaks into the seemingly empty house in a deprecated neighborhood. He is careful not to make a sound as he creeps down the basement. 

The sight he is greeted to is strange to say the least. There is little resemblance to CyberLife’s neat and chrome labs. It is dark and illuminated by the screens. A quick count reveals that not all the missing are present. Jaime is not there. Some are held in cages while others move around freely.

Connor sends the location to Officer Wilson before continuing onwards.

He tries not to draw attention to himself as he discreetly knocks out and binds the employees. He is assuming that they are willingly there. Once done, Connor downloads the information from their computers before freeing the employees that are in the cages. 

Connor borrows some random voice. “Where are the others?”

In-between sobs, one of them gasps, “Dead.”

Connor lets out a heartfelt “Fuck.” He goes specific, hopeful for something better. “Was Jaime Reyes with you?”

“Yes,” she responds. 

She and the rest of the freed employees look to each other in nervousness. Connor assumes he’s one of the dead then but he’s still holding onto hope. 

“Is there a ‘but’ to that?”

“He was a successful subject that escaped.”

Connor does not cheer out loud at that. Some news is better than none. He takes his leave soon after once he hears sirens. Connor knows enough police procedure that he messed up the scene quite a bit. 

It takes a few days of paperwork and bureaucracy to clear things up for Hank and the CyberLife employees. Connor is antsy, waiting for Hank to be released. He stays in the station, ignoring the stares of the officers. Officer Wilson stands beside him when he can but he does not say anything. Connor is thankful for his silent support.

The moment the door opens, Connor tackles Hank. Hank staggers backward at the sudden weight of Connor in his arms.

Connor buries his face into Hank’s shirt, mumbling, “I missed you.”

Hank kisses the top of his head. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
